


Thrive

by InsaneSociopath



Series: The Resurrection Chronicles [3]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Gen, Happy Ending, Immortality, M/M, Post-Star Trek Beyond, Post-Star Trek: Into Darkness, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 09:05:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10383162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneSociopath/pseuds/InsaneSociopath
Summary: Chris knows it's cliché to think of his life as divided into Before and After. Before Marcus and After Marcus.But.He also recogniseswhyit's become cliche.Because it's true; everythingisdivided into Before and After.





	

**Author's Note:**

> An Epilogue in some ways. A Conclusion in others.
> 
> Can just about be read as a stand-alone

“There will always be those who mean to do us harm. To stop them, we risk awakening the same evil within ourselves. Our first instinct is to seek revenge when we think those we love are taken from us. But that’s not who we are.

“We are here today to rechristen the USS Enterprise and to honour those who lost their lives nearly one year ago. When Christopher Pike first gave me his ship, he had me recite the Captain’s Oath, words I didn’t appreciate as much as I probably should have at the time. Now, I see them as a call for us to remember who we once were, and who we must be again.

“Care to ask me to repeat them again Admiral?”

Chris cringes and feels the anxiety spike despite the fact that Jim had not only forewarned him of the request _weeks ago_ , but had asked him repeatedly since then if he was still okay to do it. 

The silence stretches as Jim continues to watch him. 

Still he hesitates.

Archer grips his forearm suddenly, and the shock of it is enough to get his thoughts moving again. 

He grabs his cane, knuckles bleaching white.

And strides as steadily as he’s able up to the podium to stand next to Jim.

* * *

“Space, the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Enterprise. Her five-year mission, to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no-one has gone before.”

His voice doesn’t wobble once, and he grins in relief at his own feet while Jim is parroting the words.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Archer wink and send him a thumbs up.

* * *

* * *

Things get better from there. Slowly. 

The rechristening ceremony was the first time in nearly a year that he’d gone out in public for more than a quick coffee or a quiet breakfast. It had been the first time he’d had to interact with more than four people at once since _that_ week. 

It had certainly been the first time he’d done anything ‘Fleet related other than moan about paperwork and grouch with Phil, Cait, Amanda, and occasionally Archer or Nogura.

But after that?

After the ceremony, he starts pulling his confidence back together.

He goes to the Flag Officer’s sports centre. Uses the pool, uses the gym, plays with the tactical sports sims. 

He lets himself be dragged out to lunch by Cait, who always was overly cheerful. Lets the rest of his friends nag him into going out for evening meals, and eventually for a few drinks at their usual bar. 

He starts going to senior office meetings on the occasions Archer invites him. Smirks at Komack whenever the stern Operations Admiral directs his permanent scowl in his direction. 

He finally starts to get his life back together.

* * *

* * *

One morning, just over nine months after the ceremony, he wakes and he realises something.

He realises that he’s no longer living in Phil and Cait’s spare bedroom because he _has to,_ but because he _wants to._ He could, if he felt so inclined, pack all his stuff up, stick it back in his old apartment and manage on his own. 

But more importantly, he realises he doesn’t have to just because he can. 

He doesn’t have to go it alone. He can still lean on his friends and co-workers for support and not because he can’t cope without them. He could be independent if wanted, but he doesn’t have to be. They’re not a necessary crutch anymore, they’re not essential to his physical wellbeing. He could walk away, regain some distance and survive anyway. 

But.

He doesn’t have to.

So he lies there, in the back bedroom of Phil and Cait’s small four-bed town house, with its blue painted antique wooden hinge door and his soft blue cotton bed sheets. And he listens to Alan stomping around on the landing almost-screaming about his missing school books.

And he smiles.

Because he’s his own man again, and _he can do what he wants._

* * *

He has Holopics framed on the walls of his room. More than he ever even owned before- Before. 

Dozens of them. 

Six of his various senior crews over the years. One, from his time as senior tactical officer under Nogura. One from his years as XO of the USS Yorktown, two more as Captain of the same ship. Another, again as Captain on the bridge of the USS Titan, Amanda now missing from his side, gone to be Captain in her own right. 

The sixth, taken at the shipping-out ceremony of the Enterprise, nearly half a year after her actual maiden voyage. In it, he’s sharing the Captain’s chair with a smirking Jim Kirk, the far too youthful faces of the brand new senior crew surrounding them.

Three of himself with his sister, the third with his parents giggling in the background. One with Phil and Cait’s two twin boys swaddled in his arms as new-borns, a panicked but wondrous look on his face. Too many to count of his friends; bars, parties, exotic planets, quiet nights in, meals, laughter. Love. 

A small double frame above his desk; one half, himself and Phil, all too young in their cadet reds, laughing at their graduation ceremony; the other side more sombre, Kirk and McCoy waving their own bound and embossed scrolls, smiling but all too aware that their graduating class was barely a quarter the size it should have been. 

Archer swinging his cane at his head in the one tacked to the side of the tall white wardrobe by the window. He doesn’t know who took it but he’s laughing in it, the trademark mark cheeky grin of his cadet years fixed firmly to his face despite the Admirals uniform he’s wearing. 

A strip of small cheesy tourist-booth photos sticking out from behind the edge of the full-length mirror. Kirk and McCoy. Jim and Bones. Happy, young and in love.

And so many more. Holiday pics sent by his old crew members. Nogura’s artistic landscape shots. A fluffy pile of beagle puppies tucked into his top pocket on his civvy jacket by Archer one night. There’s even a couple of casual solo shots of Chris himself, probably snapped by Phil when he wasn’t looking. 

He keeps them, displays them, because they remind him. 

There’s always something to live for.

And there’s always some reason to be happy.

* * *

Phil, despite being a skinny rake of a Doctor, is obviously still trying to fatten him up. 

“Eat those damn waffles Chris, or I’ll let Ryan and Alan drag you to the play park after school later,” he’ll say every morning, or variations there upon. 

“Chris!” he’ll whisper in the middle of an Admiralty meeting, ignoring Komack’s pointed scowling. “Chris, I’ve got cake!”

“Guess who just stole the last of last night’s Chinese takeaway!” he’ll exclaim with glee, barging into Chris’ room without knocking in the middle of the day.

And yeah okay, for a while there, he really was starving himself. Not intentionally, but food… just wasn’t something he could handle in the beginning. 

But honestly Phil, he’s fine now, he already ate lunch today. So no he doesn’t want half of the profiteroles you stole from Jarg’uth’s locker while they were running the obstacle course. 

Or an extra helping of stir fry and noodles at dinner thank you very much.

And no, he would not like some strawberry ice cream. He already had a serving of lemon sorbet thanks.

And please stop encouraging him Caitlin. Please?

* * *

Chris has no idea what the boys think of him now. He’s always been a pretty active part of their life. Since before they were born really. But “active part” Before had meant showing up for Sunday dinners, spoiling them at Christmas and birthdays, and being the cool, fun uncle who sometimes swooped into their house and then took them to theme parks and zoos and movie theatres. The best friend of their parents who flew around in a massive spaceship exploring the universe for a living. 

Now though, they probably think of him as the crazy uncle who hides in the back of their house and cries too much for an adult. And sometimes wakes the whole house with his screaming.

They’re only ten, but he’s pretty sure they know he’s changed. That, whether they know the correct name for it or not, he’s _mentally ill._

That’s what they probably think anyway.

Whether they actually do think that or not? Phil always insists they still think the world of him. Cait laughed herself to tears the one time he voiced his-his _fears_ and called him every variation of “idiot” under the sun. And then every variation under a few of the other suns they’ve visited too just be sure he’d really gotten the message.

The actual, unbiased opinion of the twins? Difficult to say really.

They’re _happy._ He knows that. They smile and laugh and play and talk about their friends and what they did at school that day, and they’re always, always happy. But who wouldn’t be, when your parents are Philip and Caitlin Boyce? 

But they’re also much more quiet when Chris is in the room than they used to be.

And what is Chris supposed to make of that?

He knows, theoretically, hypothetically, _practically,_ that the reason they’re calmer around him is because they’ve been _told to be,_ because he’s _sick_ , he’s _mentally ill._ And because he’s been living with them, with their parents for _months,_ and they’ve _seen_ what that means (tears, nightmares, zoning out. Flashbacks. Terror). Because they may only be ten, but they’re Boyces so they’re _smart,_ and they know that they can help by not shouting and running and playing when he’s around. 

So he _knows_ that, but he can’t always convince himself it’s the truth. Maybe they go quiet because they’re _scared_ of him, scared of what happened to him, what he’s become. Scared it might happen to them too. Scared that he’d _let_ it happen to them, just like he let it happen to himself. 

(He wouldn’t let it happen to them. He’d go back himself a thousand times before he allowed that to become a reality)

Theoretically, hypothetically. In actual reality -or so he desperately wishes to believe- he _knows_ they still love him and care for him with all their hearts. 

But some days, even now, even after he’s had his _realisation._

Some days, his subconscious just will not get with the programme.

Then, finally, _blessedly,_ his stupid brain finally accepts the message he’s been screaming at it.

That week, that same week Alan had woken him by yelling about his lost History textbooks on the landing outside his blue wooden door, Ryan asks him for a favour. And he says yes, because he can do public speaking again now, thanks to Jim and the rechristening ceremony. He says yes, and he goes to Ryan and Alan’s school and he tells all the excited young faces about the adventures of exploring space and the wondrous peace keeping armada that is Starfleet. 

And then suddenly from that evening, he realises two more things.

One; he might actually be ready to start helping out the ‘Fleet recruitment division again. And two; Ryan and Alan never did stop thinking of him as the brilliant uncle who hung the moon for them. That it’s _because_ they love and respect and idolise him that they’re not as boisterous and excitable as they used to be around him.

He helps them skive off school the next day and takes them to the recently revamped Waterworld  
California up past Berkeley instead.

Totally worth it, even when Phil and Cait both metaphorically tan his hide for it that night.

* * *

* * *

Before. 

And After.

Archer clobbers his shins with that dastardly cane of his whenever he hears Chris using the capitalised versions of those words.

“There is no Before and After,” he’ll say. Growl really. “There is only now and next.”

“If only,” Chris will chuckle back.

Archer will then swing his damnable cane at Chris’ head.

Chris will duck and swing his own cane at Archer’s own shins.

It’s a routine they have.

Chris likes routines these days.

All the days since the end of Before, and the start of After.

* * *

He has mixed feelings about his cane. 

Jim thinks it’s great. Jim would. Jim after all, is _Jim._

Archer likes having another Admiral around that he can start spontaneous fencing matches with in the middle of the campus main square, all the cadets gathering around to hoot and cheer. Claims it makes him feel young again. 

Amanda comes from a society where being gifted with a cane is a sign of great wisdom and achievement. Only the wisest and most respected of her kind are gifted with a cane. She jokes he’s unworthy of such an honour, given that he still can’t do his own necktie up when needed. 

Chris though, Chris recognises it for what it is. It’s a crutch. 

He doesn’t need it. With the exception of being just a tad under-weight, he’s in perfect physical health (his _curse_ makes sure of that) (despite what he’s always telling Jim, he can’t think of it as a gift anymore). He doesn’t have a limp, or a gammy leg, or any kind of paralysis or nerve twinges. Nothing that would mean having to use a cane. 

Nothing that isn’t psychosomatic.

* * *

It started off as an excuse, just another part of his cover. 

Everyone, both in and out of the ‘Fleet, knew something traumatic had happened to him. The forcible closing of the Stockholm Division was very public after all, what with the whole of Starfleet being fully embroiled in Post-Marcus turmoil. Nogura had kept him, Phil and Archer well clear of the mess he was having to deal with, but he still heard things. Even when he was hiding in Jim’s room, desperately seeking reassurance from the only other person besides Archer who really, truly _understood,_ he still heard things. 

So he knew his face and name was plastered all over the tabloids alongside those of the crew of the Enterprise. That it was common knowledge throughout the Federation that both he and Jim, in their own separate ways, had defied Marcus for the greater good and survived the encounter, but not without paying for it.

The cane was part of the cover. It wouldn’t have looked right, if he had walked away from the end of Before without a mark on him, with nothing to show for his ordeal except the obvious mental scars. And so he’d taken a leaf out of Archer’s book, picked up a sleek metal cane and hidden behind a false limp. 

But it’s been nearly two years, and he really doesn’t need to hide anymore. He should have stopped hiding weeks ago. _Months_ ago.

It’s not really a cane anymore, it’s a crutch.

An emotional crutch. 

And he doesn’t want to _need_ it anymore.

* * *

In Starfleet’s lengthening history, there have been more than a few disasters, accidents and unavoidable mishaps. Enough that there’s a set protocol for the establishing of memorial services. If -and only if- the event being commemorated was large enough to be considered a named disaster, it can be annually marked by an official ‘Fleet organised service on the day of its occurrence or final conclusion. But only for the first five years. Following the fifth anniversary, the memorial service will instead be incorporated into the annual Starfleet Memorial Day alongside all the other, smaller events being commemorated. By long-standing Earth tradition, the day is always held on the 11th Day of the 11th Month. 

At the third anniversary memorial event commemorating those lost in the Downing of the USS Vengeance and the victims of the various Marcus Trials, Chris sits with his head down in the front row between Phil and Archer, Jim and the crew of the Enterprise at his back, and twists his cane in his hands until his fingers are numb and white.

And then, when all the words that need saying have been said and the seats are nearly empty, Chris stands with Phil by the memorial spire draped in traditional poppies, and leaves his cane next to the candle they light together.

* * *

“You did good,” Jim tells him. 

“You know what kid? I know I did.”

And it’s not sarcastic at all.

* * *

* * *

It’s another fact of Before and After, Jim’s name.

Before, he was always Kirk. 

Kirk and Pike.

Pike and Kirk.

Friends, but. 

Not really. Not completely.

Close, but only as companionable colleagues.

Chris was the mentor, Jim the mentee.

They talked, and had meetings, and shared lunch and snarked at and baited each other because they were both cheeky sons of bitches too fond of anarchy. Cheeky sons of bitches with a in-common issue with not staying dead. 

But. It was still, beyond the surface at least, a professional relationship. 

And then.

And then After.

* * *

Hospital rooms and tears and nightmares. 

A shared experience that neither of them wanted.

A bond, forged in the blood of the forcibly resurrected.

* * *

“Heads up old man!” Jim shouts at him. The beach ball Chris chooses to ignore bounces harmlessly off the side of his head.

“Man you’re useless.”

Chris raises an eyebrow at him.

“And you’re so damn pale! Do you _ever_ go outside old man?”

Chris raises the other eyebrow.

“Seriously Chris, you’re so white, I’m going fucking blind just looking at you!”

“Language!” Chris, Phil, Cait, Amanda, _and_ Bones all shout at the same time.

“Jesus Jimmy, not around the kids you imbecile!” Bones also adds with a swat to the back of Jim’s head.

Alan and Ryan snigger loudly and continue piling sand on Chris’ feet.

* * *

“When do you ship out again?” he asks Bones that night over dinner. He actually already knows. But. He still asks. 

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Christ, that’s soon. Too soon.”

Bones just smiles sadly at him and scoops another pile of curry onto Chris’ plate.

Not that he asked for another serving. Damnable pushy doctors.

* * *

* * *

Phil is not as okay as he pretends to be. 

Some nights, Chris is not the one who wakes up screaming.

They’re not uncommon if you’ve spent your life sailing amongst the stars. 

Nightmares.

It’s not the first time, Chris knows, that Phil has suffered through something that left him experiencing nightmares. That in the Before, other things had happened that had shaken him to his core. But those nightmares were not the same as the one’s in the After. Chris knows this from experience. Too much experience.

Because until the time where Before and After cross, neither of them had ever been so helpless or so desperate.

* * *

Phil is not as okay as he pretends to be. 

There are times when he stares at Chris too intently, and he knows that Phil is reliving the moment when they cut Chris’ chest open and broke his ribs outwards. Or the moment when they strapped him to a metal frame and slowly increased the voltage of the current passing through it.

The moment they set him on fire and made Phil listen to his agonised screams.

They didn’t lay a finger on Phil except to make sure he couldn’t stop them.

Chris knows that sometimes Phil wishes they had done more to him, that they had left Chris and Jon alone sometimes and let him share some of the burden of pain. Let him relieve them from having to carry it all alone.

Chris knows this because Phil once woke up screaming and came running in complete distress to Chris and sobbed his confession into Chris’ chest. 

Cait had tucked him into bed with Chris when he’d finally cried himself back to sleep, a sad smile pulling down on her face, and kissed both of them on the forehead before slipping silently away.

Phil has never spoken of that night again, nor of what Chris knows he sometimes wishes.

Chris has never asked him about it.

Chris never will.

* * *

* * *

He gets mugged.

It’s a random, utterly senseless occurrence. But it happens.

The men -two of them- corner him outside a run-down, backwater bar. The type Jim used to favour before Bones’ convinced him to appreciate some class and style. 

Like he used to do with Jim, he’s there to haul a reprobate of a student back to his senses. 

This new kid doesn’t have a Bones to save his ass yet, so the job has fallen to Chris.

He’s not like Chris and Jim and Archer. Not in _that_ way. But he’s a handful, a cheeky SOB with a too wide grin that rarely reflects in his eyes. He has a rap sheet too, just like Jim did. Alcohol, fighting, indecency. Drugs once. 

When Chris dragged the kid to the Academy for the first time, following an otherwise routine recruitment circuit, Nogura had taken one look at him and sighed into his hands. 

“Not again Pike seriously!”

“What?” Chris had smirked, “Is there a problem sir?”

“Yes!” Nogura had snapped, “And its name is Admiral Pike! What is it with your compulsion to save the unsaveable?”

“I’d say it worked out pretty well the last time.”

“No it did not! Have you any idea how much of a pain in the ass Kirk can be? He’s too good at his job! Everyone loves him!”

“…Not seeing the issue here Admiral.”

“It is an issue because Kirk being competent and un-reprimandable makes Komack grumpy, and then _I_ have to deal with him!”

“Kirk or Komack?”

“Both! Get out of my sight Pike, and take your new pet project with you before I decide to let Bendaarja Gret-Dan borrow him for a week or two!”

Chris had snickered and hustled them both out of the Admin building before Nogura could think of something else to scold him for.

* * *

And then, months later, he goes to collect his wayward scoundrel cadet from a dodgy dive bar down by the waterfront. 

And he gets mugged.

* * *

They take his wallet, his watch, his ‘Fleet Comm and PADD, his Bragga tooth necklace, and his life.

* * *

To his sheer and utter amazement, they fail to take that which he now holds most dear; any of his newly rediscovered mental stability.

* * *

It _probably_ helps that Archer manages to _borrow_ (steal) a copy of the security cam footage from the bar’s side alley, and tweaks it to disguise Chris’ death as mere unconsciousness. Because then the tape can be taken first to the police, and then to court. Meaning that the two scumbags get a nice big chunk of off-world jail time as penance for their crimes.

But it _definitely_ also helps that Chris has learnt something new from the whole experience (besides “don’t wander around the dodgy end of town after midnight on your own like a naive muppet”). 

He learns that he can now die and then get up and walk away, and be none the worse for wear again. 

It feels good, knowing that he can trust in his ability again. That he can call it a gift rather than a curse again.

It feels good.

* * *

* * *

Much to Bones’ mixed horror and pleasure, the lifesaving substance derived from Khan’s superblood is commonly known as McCoy Serum. 

It’s also commonly known that access to it is anything _but _common.__

Since Bones first synthesised it, the serum has only been utilised precisely five times. And only twice successfully. 

The problem lies in the nature of the serum.

What it does is reconnect the neuron patterns of the brain to the rest of the body, jump starting an individual’s organs, and conscious and automated thought processes well after the point a patient would normally be considered brain dead. It also, to a limited degree, accelerates the body’s natural healing processes, but not to the point that it can be relied upon alone.

What it does not do however, is fix whatever caused the person to die or enter a coma in the first place. If someone were to be stabbed through the heart, it would be necessary to remove the blade and repair the heart before administering the serum, or the patient would remain deceased. The sole exceptions to this being diseases or genetic conditions where it is a compromised immune system that is solely responsible for the patient’s condition. 

It also cannot be used more than once, as after the first shot, the brain adjusts the new pattern of neuron firing created by the serum. Once it’s in that pattern, administering more serum won’t alter it further, and thus won’t jump start the brain a second time. 

Add that to the dual facts that only very small amounts of the serum can be created at any one time due to access to Khan’s blood, and that the senior admiralty won’t _let_ anyone other than three handpicked doctors have access to the blood or Bones’ synthesis procedure…

Essentially, access to the serum is more or less none existent unless you happen to be Leonard McCoy himself, or Philip Boyce, L’Ving’Ting Tamaha’lk, or Brandon Patel.

Personally, Chris is very glad that access is so restricted. There are some people, in his opinion, who should just not be brought back to life.

* * *

His therapist, whom he still sees at least once a week even now, says that it’s good that he thinks that about the serum. That access is uncommon. 

Apparently it shows that he’s willing to let people go when they have to. That he can let them move on when they need to.

That it’s another step towards accepting that one day, he’ll move on too. And that despite his past experiences, that day hasn’t come yet.

Chris snorts his lemonade in that appointment, he’s laughing so hard.

* * *

It does make him think though.

Will he ever actually die? Permanently?

Or will he be stuck in a permanent limbo forever?

At least he’ll have Archer and Jim for company.

(He jokes that being stuck with Jim for eternity would be a fate worse than death. Jim sighs at the terrible pun. Chris chuckles lamely for hours, but secretly, he admits to himself that he wouldn’t mind being stuck with Jim forever.)

* * *

* * *

Four years. They’re four years into the After. 

Some days, Chris forgets to call it After.

* * *

“Jim’s birthday next week.”

“I know Phil; I forwarded a bottle of Jack to Yorktown as a present for him.”

“Oh! Me too! Oh well, kid likes his Jack and coke.”

“I think he prefers it neat these days actually.”

“So long as he’s not drinking other substances neat when he hasn’t got any decent Earth brew to hand. I’m still not sure how you didn’t go blind that time you downed that entire bottle of Saurian Brandy in less than thirty minutes.”

“Phil. I have a confession.”

“You did go blind?”

“I absolutely went blind.”

“Serves you right, stubborn bastard.”

* * *

“Hey Chris.”

“Yeah?”

“I bought two bottles of Jack because they were on buy one get one free. And I only sent one to Jim and Bones.”

“Brilliant. Let’s get hammered.”

* * *

“Hey, Hey Chris. Christopher Pike. Chris Pike the mighty tyke.”

“Hey! Fuck off! Phil the Distill. Err-ry. Distillery. Gettit. Cuz you smell like one.”

“That’s so lame. Rubbish and lame.”

“You’re rubbish and lame.”

“And totally not to blame.”

“Which is such a terrible shame.”

“Chris? Who is to blame then?”

“…Nero.”

“Nero?”

“Yeah Nero. Big ugly ass dude who kidnapped me an’ let a space bug chew my spine in two. ‘member him?”

“No, I was stuck here on Earth with th’ kids while you were bein’ chewed on.”

“Being chewed on sucked.”

“Yeah. You know what else sucks? That they called the new big space sphere thingy after our ‘ole ship an’ then didn’t invite us to visit.”

“Rubbish.”

“Rubbish and lame.”

“And Jim is to blame.”

“Which is _not_ a shame.”

Chris giggles into his glass, spills the contents down his shirt and on Cait’s new couch upholstery, cusses, tries to mop it up with his stained shirt, and then giggles some more.”

* * *

* * *

On the actual day of Jim’s birthday, Chris makes a point to Comm him.

Jim sounds… down, to Chris’ concern. 

He wishes he had managed to get clearance to visit Yorktown himself, but he’d used up his chance on getting Ben Sulu and his daughter out there instead. 

He resolves to Comm Bones later too and see what’s playing on the kid’s mind.

* * *

“It’s obvious isn’t it?” Phil shrugs at him that afternoon.

“Is it?”

“As of today, he’s older than his father lived to be.”

“Twenty-nine years since the Kelvin incident. Jesus.”

“Seven since you picked a kid up off a barroom floor and made him a man.”

Chris shakes his head.

“He made himself a man Phil. I just got dragged along for the ride.”

* * *

* * *

Nogura is the one to tell him about the Kree and Yorktown. The one to tell them all.

There’s a top classified debriefing organised mere minutes after the news comes in over the long distance secure Comms. 

And only mere minutes after the debrief is over, Chris steps foot on the deck of a starship for the first time in over five years and orders the helmsman to plug in the coordinates for the damaged starbase.

* * *

Phil shouts at him over the open broadcast ship Comm when he realises that they launched before half their personal luggage made it on board.

Cait comes straight up to the bridge from engineering and smacks him one in person. 

The Cadets making up half the standby crew do nothing to hide their gawking.

* * *

“JAMES T. KIRK! WHAT DID I TELL YOU!”

“Oh my god Chris!”

It looks like a party to Chris. There’s a bar and lots of booze and is Spock holding a slice of cake?

Chris has no problem gate-crashing Jim’s birthday party. Especially if there’s cake.

“The one thing I made you promised when I gave you my ship! One thing! What was it?”

“Erm,” the young man chuckles nervously, probably self-conscious due to all the wide-eyed stares he’s receiving from his crew. “Don’t die?”

“No, the other promise that you failed to keep.”

“Errrr… Don’t break your ship?”

“Yes!” Chris cries, smacking Jim playfully around then back of the head. “Not one scratch I said! Not a single scratch on my hull! And what have you done! Huh? What have you done!?”

“Scratched your hull?”

“You scratched my baby! You _crashed_ my baby! Destroyed her beautiful lines, rendered her into rubble! You tyrant you! You are beyond grounded!”

“Who is this man Jamestee?” A young, white skinned female suddenly asks, “I find that he is to my liking.”

“Jaylah, meet Senior Flag Officer, Admiral Christopher Pike. Chris, this is Jaylah. Wizzkid mechanic and the reason Yorktown is still standing. Floating. Same thing. She’s good. Help me sponsor her into the academy?”

“He is many wise Jamestee, to beat you so freely for your folly.”

“Jim,” Chris smiles smugly at the still sheepish Captain, “I think I found another willing volunteer to enforce your grounding. Come along Jayla, Bones.”

“What!? No! Birthday party first, beheading later! Sit down and chug some ale old man!”

“Now Jim!”

“Chris!”

“That’s Admiral Chris to you!”

* * *

He doesn’t actually drag Jim out of his own party, but he does embarrass him in front of his crew as much as he can. Phil and Cait finding them within an hour or so and sharing some of their own Cadet Kirk stories is a definite help.

But honestly, Chris is _impressed._

Paris sends the debrief files to his PADD as he requested, and he honestly can’t find fault in Jim or the crew’s actions. Some things that maybe could have been done better, faster, more carefully perhaps, but nothing that screams _error_ or _fatal mistake_ to him. 

And most tellingly, is watching the way Jim interacts with his crew. He’s sensible, calm, level headed, but still friendly, jovial and open. He does not demand their attention, but they give to him regardless. He does not ask for their loyalty and respect, but they offer it freely to him anyway. 

Jim, to Chris’ amazement, is unfailingly mature.

Mature in the way Chris had always prayed he would turn out to be. Brilliantly, intelligently, admirably mature. 

Chris suddenly understands why Nogura always moans about Jim being too good at his job.

No one is ever going to hold a candle to Jim. 

Chris used to be the fleet poster boy -still is in some ways where the Admiralty are concerned oddly enough- but he’s going to be a mere footnote in ‘Fleet History, where as Jim will be an entire chapter.

Scrap that.

He’ll probably be the entire goddamn textbook!

* * *

* * *

“You owe me.”

“I always owe you sir. I have accepted it as a fact of life.”

“Yeah well, you owe me double now Captain. I talked to operations and construction.”

“Yeah?”

“You are currently looking down on the framework of the NCC-1701 USS Enterprise-A.”

“They’re rebuilding our girl!”

“They’re rebuilding _my_ girl. You may borrow her for the occasional deep space mission if you ask nicely and do all your chores first.”

“Fuck Chris, they’re rebuilding our girl!”

“ _My_ Girl.”

“ _Our!”_

 _“Beheading!_ And your Fiancée will hold you down for me! Which is no less than you deserve for failing to mention that _you went and proposed!”_

“Christ, I know I told you to stop surviving and revive Chris, but I didn’t think you’d go this far.”

“Reviving, I have been told, is very good for you!”

“Well clearly, but you’ve stepped over from reviving to thriving. Little bit terrifying.”

“Three point plan to living with chronic Spontaneous Lazarus Syndrome-”

“You do know Nogura made that name up on the spot to scare the shit out of Bones and I right?”

 _“Three point plan to living with Spontaneous Lazarus Syndrome Jimmy:_ Survive, Revive, and Thrive.”

“You’re a really corny old man you know that?” 

“Come on say it with me. Survive…”

“No.”

“Survive….”

“Chris-”

“-Say it. Survive-”

“-I hate you so much sir.”

 _“Beheading!_ And Bones will help me!”

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't want to state it in-story as I felt it would detract from the narrative, but yes, Chris is Aro/Ace. And yes, he still loves you all.


End file.
